


envy the birds

by palmviolet



Series: handmade heaven [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, El takes Valentine’s a bit too seriously, F/M, Fluff, Hop is a music snob, Jopper centric, Mileven is really only there at the start, post season two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 00:56:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17756732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palmviolet/pseuds/palmviolet
Summary: “i’m fine-“ she began to say, then her head drooped. “can we not talk about this? just for tonight? can we pretend like we’re normal?”it had been over two months since bob, since all that shit went down, and though he knew neither of them would ever be fully okay, he hoped that it was getting better. and the fact that she’d come here tonight, accepted his invitation, said more than her words did.he looked at her for a moment, saw the bags under her eyes and how fragile her smile was, and nodded. “sure. we can do that.”— when el’s plans for valentine’s day go awry, she and hopper have dinner with joyce and will instead.





	envy the birds

**Author's Note:**

> by popular request, here we have the sequel to a fool to want you - i’d recommend reading that first, if you haven’t, but it’s not completely necessary. i’m planning on this being an extended series, but we’ll see (as i’m still working on my longfic). this is quite short and sweet, but i wanted to catch up with my faves on valentine’s :)

Towards the end of the Snow Ball, when they were eating Cheez Balls at a table strewn with tinsel, Mike told El about Valentine’s Day. She’d never heard of it before, just like she’d never heard of Christmas or Thanksgiving until a few months ago - and Mike took great delight in telling her, even as the blush on his cheeks made him stutter adorably. 

“It’s this- this day, with flowers and chocolates and stuff that you give to the person you-“ He broke off, eyes darting away from her.

She leaned closer. “The person you what?” she asked. His hands were toying with a blue strip of tinsel, tugging at it nervously.

“The person you like. The way I like you.”

She felt heat spread across her cheeks, the way it had earlier when he’d pressed his lips to hers. 

“I know Hopper won’t let you out for ages, but I was thinking maybe we could spend it together.” His eyes were shy, and impulsively she reached for his hand. 

“Yes. Please.” His face was like the sun breaking through clouds, and later she kept the image in her head to return to whenever she felt lonely - and the date, February 14th, branded in her mind.

On the way back home she’d asked Hopper - “Can I see Mike on Valentine’s Day?”

His face had colored and he coughed. “Um, let’s see how it goes, huh?”

“Please,” she said. “I know I have to stay away for longer, but it’s one day.”

He glanced at her, and maybe he saw how much she wanted - no, _needed_ \- this, because he said, “Okay. You can see him on Valentine’s. That means you gotta stop pestering me about going out, okay? I-“ He took a deep breath. “I’m just trying to protect you. But I get that you need to see people other than me sometimes.”

El gave him a bright smile, and stored away the promise of Valentine’s as a beacon at the end of her long, boring days. As it turned out, Hopper allowed her out for New Year, and he wasn’t even there to stop her kissing Mike when the clock struck twelve - but the weeks after that were dull and empty. Hopper had to work, and the Party were at school, and all the movies on TV were the same. 

But eventually February arrived, and then it was the weekend before Valentine’s, and El could barely contain her excitement. Hopper had told her that Mike could come over to the cabin after school, and that they’d even be alone for a bit because he had work to do. (He had, however, warned her that under no circumstances were they to leave the cabin or do anything else stupid.) That in itself had made her frown, because didn’t he have anyone he liked to spend it with? 

She was sitting on her bed, flicking absently through the day’s newspaper that Hopper had brought her, when her radio crackled to life.

She grabbed it immediately, any whisper of communication a victory. It was Mike.

“El? Do you copy? Over.”

“Here,” she said, his voice sending warmth through her.

“I- uh, I got some bad news. My Dad- he’s going on a work trip on Valentine’s, so my stupid Mom’s making us go to Detroit with her to visit my aunt. So- uh- I won’t be here.”

El sat back silently. He wouldn’t be here? But he’d promised- Hopper had promised-

“El? Are you still there?” 

Mike’s voice was low and sullen, a raw edge to it - he didn’t sound happy about this development either, but for El it was especially crushing. He at least had the Party, he had more than one family member to talk to - she was stuck in here, in the cabin that may as well have been an asteroid in space, like the ones she’d read about in a book Dustin had given her. 

Mike was still asking for her, but she flung the radio on her bed and buried her head in her hands, a sob rising in her throat. Why did this happen? Why couldn’t she have a normal life, where she could see Mike every day without fear? Where she didn’t have a number tattooed on her arm, or nightmares about a man in a lab coat and monsters from other worlds?

Eventually the radio went silent. She looked at it through eyes blurry with tears, and debated using it, calling Mike back - but she couldn’t bring herself to. 

There was a knock on her door. She looked up, brushed away her tears hurriedly - but when Hopper entered, his face softened in such a way that she knew he’d seen them. 

“Hey,” he said softly, gruffly, moving to sit beside her. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head mutely. She was afraid that if she spoke, she’d start crying again - and she wouldn’t be able to stop.

“Hey, you can talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Mike- Valentine’s-“ Her head dropped and her shoulders shook, sobs racking her body. “He won’t be here.”

“Oh,” Hopper said, a little awkwardly, but she suddenly flung her arms around him, her tears watering his shirt. “Hey,” he said again, rubbing her back and holding her tight. “You can see him another day, it‘s okay.”

Her tears felt irrational then, but all she could think of was the magic of the Snow Ball, Mike saying _flowers and chocolates and stuff,_ and _the person you like, the way I like you_. It felt like by missing this day, they’d be missing some key landmark - like it wouldn’t be the same on any other day.

“But you have to spend Valentine’s with the person you like.”

“What, you don’t like me?” Hopper joked. She gave a weak, watery smile. “Seriously, kid, it’s just a gimmick. So the stores can charge more for chocolate with hearts on.”

“But it was meant to be special,” she insisted.

“Well, if you want you could have someone else over. You could still spend it with someone you like.”

She was struck by a thought. “Does Joyce have someone to spend it with?” she asked softly. Because in the handful of times she’d seen Will’s mom in the last few months, she’d looked worn and sad behind the warm smile she wore for El’s benefit. And some small part of her held the suspicion that Joyce and Hopper could be perfect for each other - that they could erase each other’s frowns, if only she could help them see it. (And then maybe she’d have a family beyond one gruff small-town cop, whom she loved but fought with all too often.)

Hopper looked taken aback, something unreadable coming into his eyes. “I- uh- I think she’s just having a quiet night in with the boys.”

“Can they come? Joyce and Will and Jonathan?” 

He looked uncertain. “I don’t know, kid, Joyce is very busy-“

El looked at him with imploring eyes. “Please,” she said, because he’d said she should spend Valentine’s with people she liked - and the Byers were some of her favorite people in the world.

Begrudgingly, Hopper nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

—

Hopper hadn’t spoken to Joyce in nearly two months. Sure, he’d seen her around town, glimpsed her through the windows of the store, but she’d been keeping to herself. At New Year she’d said she needed space, space to grieve and accept, and he was giving it to her. (That didn’t mean it didn’t kill him, that it didn’t burn to miss her smile, her laugh. He was afraid that maybe their closeness was only a result of the dark forces invading the town, and that maybe it would fade now they were safe - but then he had to tell himself not to be so stupid and selfish, because she would come back to him when she was ready.)

El’s suggestion - it had been a curveball, certainly. He knew she and Joyce had this bond, this kind of mother-daughter link that had sprung to life, already unbreakable, within about five minutes of their knowing each other - but he didn’t know if Joyce was ready for this kind of thing. 

He’d been worried about the phone conversation. When he got around to calling, only two days before Valentine’s Day itself, it had been while he was cooking dinner for himself and El, the phone cradled by his ear as he waited for the pasta to boil.

“Hello?” Joyce asked on the other end, her voice weary and apprehensive.

“Hey, Joyce, it’s Hopper.”

“Hop,” she said, audibly relaxing. “How are you?

“We’re alright. Um, listen, I know this is late notice, but El was upset and she asked me and, well-“

“Hey, slow down,” Joyce interrupted, laughter in her voice - and wasn’t that a welcome sound.

“Yeah, well, we were wondering if you and the boys wanted to come here for dinner on Thursday.”

She was silent for a single, loaded moment. Hopper swallowed - maybe he’d overstepped, maybe she’d be put off-

“Hey, this is just a friendly thing, no strings attached,” he said, then immediately regretted putting voice to his thoughts - what if she didn’t want it to be friendly, what if she wanted more- God, he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing.

What he didn’t expect was her quiet chuckle. “Don’t worry, Hop, I’d like to think you’re above asking me out for Valentine’s. We can come for dinner. Will would love it, if nothing else - he’s fascinated by El.”

He didn’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed, but he settled for a jocular tone. “I’ll rustle up something special.”

“No burnt macaroni, then? Or Magic Middles?” Her tone was teasing, and the weight on his heart lessened. Because if she was able to joke like this, then maybe she was okay - maybe things were better, maybe the silence between them wouldn’t be so loaded. (But who was he kidding? There would always be tension between them, only compounded by their kiss at New Year. That kiss- so heated and golden, like he could live in it forever.)

“No, I’ve been trying to give El some real food, so there might even be greens involved.”

“I look forward to it,” Joyce said, voice sincere. 

So now he was trying to arrange the cabin into some semblance of tidiness. Luckily he’d bought a proper table only last month, which just about fit into the cramped space, but at least they wouldn’t have to eat off their laps. 

Dinner - some kind of casserole he’d thrown together according to a tattered recipe book he’d found among his mom’s stuff - was cooking, and it smelled surprisingly okay. Hopper was relieved at that. He wasn’t a great chef, but he’d had to learn if he wanted El to eat anything but Eggos. 

He straightened the mats on the table and stood back, hands fidgeting. He was strangely nervous. Of course, they’d defined this as strictly ‘friendly’, and Joyce had all but forbidden him from making a move, but it still felt like he was a teenager trying to impress a first date. (Nevermind that his and Joyce’s first date, back in ‘58, had involved sharing a bottle of bourbon and defiling the back of his dad’s Oldsmobile - hardly proper or impressive. He seemed to remember she’d enjoyed it at the time, though they’d both hooked up with other people before the month was out.)

They weren’t due to arrive for another ten minutes or so, so he moved to his record player to give him something to do. (El was reading in her room, where he’d banished her when her nervous excitement got in his way in their tiny kitchen.) He grabbed the first record that came to hand and put it on - then immediately regretted it when the mournful chords of _Kingdom Come_ began to play.

Fuck, this was a sad song, and so not what he needed right now. What was worse, it described his and Joyce’s relationship so damn perfectly. _All that I want is you with me_? A little too on the nose, maybe. God, Hopper was in deep.

He didn’t move to turn it off, though. Some part of him refused to, because that would mean accepting that this song was, in fact, affecting him. _Living out of time, now you’ve come and set me free._ He scrubbed a hand over his beard and wondered if he was allowed to have a beer before they arrived.

By the time there was a knock on the door (he’d instructed Joyce as to the secret knock, avoiding the booby traps and parking at least a mile away), he’d given up on the record player entirely and put the radio on instead. They were playing nauseatingly romantic hits from the 60s. The latest was something by Connie Francis that he remembered hearing from outside Prom, when he’d been too chicken to go in and face Joyce with Lonnie, her then-new beau. 

He took a deep breath and smoothed down his shirt (the only one he owned that didn’t have a coffee stain on it). “El, they’re here!” he called, and went to open the door.

Will was standing on the porch, practically vibrating with excitement, but Hopper’s eyes went straight to Joyce behind him. She was wearing the same ratty coat she’d been wearing all winter, unbuttoned to reveal a silky shirt he’d never seen before. She looked nice, like she’d made an effort - but where the shirt slipped he could see that her collarbones were all too prominent, and her face was shadowy in the gloom. 

“Hey,” he said softly, moving aside to let them in. 

There was no sign of Jonathan, and indeed then Joyce said, “Jonathan couldn’t make it in the end. He had to pick up another shift.” There was guilt in her face, the guilt of a single mother who depended too much on her eldest son, guilt that Hopper wanted to smooth away.

He nodded, opening his mouth to reply, but then El appeared and flung herself at Joyce in what was no doubt a bone-crushing hug. Joyce staggered a little, but then melted into it. Hopper looked away, because the moment was almost heartbreakingly intimate. They had this mother-daughter thing going on, that he could never even touch. 

Then El turned to Will and they shared a warm embrace, and Hopper had the chance to look at Joyce - really look, for the first time in nearly two months. Her face was thinner, hollower, her hair growing long and wild. Her shirt, now she was in the light, appeared to be made of something cheaper than silk, though he still couldn’t help but admire the way the wine-colored fabric draped over her skin. 

Her eyes were shadowed, like she hadn’t been sleeping, but the smile she gave him was warm. “How are you?” she asked, and he almost laughed - because it was just like Joyce to be worrying about him when she was going through a really shitty time. 

“We’re good- I’m good.” He paused. “How are you?”

She looked away, eyes skittish. “I- uh- I’m okay.” She fell silent. “I’ve been better. But I’m okay.”

Hopper believed her. It had been over two months since Bob, since all that shit went down and, though he knew neither of them would ever be fully okay, he hoped that it was getting better. And the fact that she’d come here tonight, accepted his invitation, said more than her words did.

El and Will had drawn apart and she drew him away to the sofa, showing him the latest book Hopper had given her - something to do with comics, and superheroes. Hopper went to the kitchen, Joyce following, and stirred the casserole a little restlessly. “Beer?” he asked, and she nodded. 

He handed her one and maybe she gulped it down a little to fast, maybe she gripped it a little too tight, but something about it made him frown. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked, and her face closed off.

“I’m fine-“ she began to say, then her head drooped. “Can we not talk about this? Just for tonight? Can we pretend like we’re normal?”

He looked at her for a moment, saw the bags under her eyes and how fragile her smile was, and nodded. “Sure. We can do that.”

He took a sip of his own beer, leaning against the counter. 

“Uh, how’s El been? It can’t be easy for her, cooped up in this cabin all the time.”

He shrugged. “She’s better than she was. She’s got a radio now, so she can talk to the other kids, and days like this- they really help. Seeing Will, and you.”

Joyce met his eyes. “I’d like to see her more, if I can. You’re a good parent, but she needs more than just you.”

He nodded unashamedly. He knew that, he did. The number of times he considered calling Joyce in that year away, when El had some problem that he couldn’t fix - hell, the number of times he wanted to call her just because he missed her. El needed more than just him, because she’d spent so long in such a sterile, unloving environment that the more love they could lavish on her, the better. 

“You have any cigarettes?” Joyce said, leaning back and looking up at him.

He nodded. a smile creeping onto his face. They both knew that she had her own, but there was something fond in her borrowing his. A ritual, almost. He handed her one and leaned close to light it.

When it was glowing and she’d removed it from her lips to exhale a smoky cloud, she looked at him hard. “About New Year’s-“

The timer went off, its ringing harsh and loud in the comfortable silence of the cabin. Hopper rushed to remove the casserole from the heat and Joyce leaned back, disappointed.

As he grabbed four mismatched plates, he glanced at her. “You were saying…?”

“After we’ve eaten,” she said quietly, her eyes somehow more shadowed than before. He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat, and tried to keep his hands steady as he portioned out the casserole. What did she want to say to him? Was she going to say it was all a mistake? That they were better off as friends, and distant ones at that? That she really did blame him for Bob, and couldn’t forgive him for hiding Eleven?

He shook these thoughts off. Even if that was the case, he had to focus on the here and now - the warm aroma of dinner, the sounds of El and Will chatting on the sofa. The positives, even if he and Joyce were something weird and undefined.

He called the kids to dinner.

—

The casserole was good. Joyce had to admit she’d been sceptical at the invite, thinking maybe they’d be eating takeaway pizza off their laps in front of the TV, but she’d been happily mistaken. As it was, the meal as a whole was good - the food, the beer, the company. Hopper, El and Will fell to talking naturally, like they were a normal family instead of a disillusioned cop, a traumatised boy, and a girl with psychic abilities. (Her ex, her son, and her pseudo-daughter respectively.)

Joyce stayed mostly silent. Their chatter washed over her in comfortable warmth, easing some of the tension that seemed to have taken permanent residence in her spine. Her silence wasn’t a habit easily unlearned - the grief for Bob, still fresh and raw, lurked at the edge of her mind always, making her feel guilty for smiling or talking too loud. 

January- January had been a bad time. It had been dark and cold, and she went between work and her bed with little energy for anything else. The early hours would find her lying awake, staring into the dark emptily, unable to summon the strength even to light a cigarette. It wasn’t just that she missed Bob - although she did, with an almost constant ache - but the combined weight of everything that had happened, everything that might still happen, was dragging her down with an exhaustion that settled deep in her bones.

She hadn’t been avoiding Hopper, per se. Their paths had little reason to cross without a deliberate choice to do so, so they simply didn’t meet. He was giving her space, she understood that. In truth, she needed that.

So when he’d called-

It had thrown her. Phone calls only ever meant bad things, these days - monsters or the taxman (as if they weren’t one and the same). But it had been Hopper on the line, sounding as gruff and warm as ever, a smile in his voice like the sun. She’d even found it in herself to joke with him, to break the imposed grimness that hung over her heavy as a stormcloud. 

She’d noticed that he called it Thursday, rather than Valentine’s, as if he was trying not to scare her. She appreciated that. She’d been planning on a quiet night in, just her and Will (as Jonathan had work), but she would have passed it in a depressed stupor. (14th of February last year, she’d been working in Melvald’s surrounded by shitty paper hearts, and Bob had come in for a carton of milk and smiled shyly at her - the first time she’d seen him since the highschool reunion in ‘70. The start of something happy, and ultimately tragic.)

This way, at least she was out of the house.

So she found a long forgotten faux-silk blouse, and even applied some mascara, which was growing crusty with age. _No strings attached_ , she told herself as she smoothed down her shirt and stared in the mirror, tried her best to pat down her frazzled hair. _No strings attached_ , she was still thinking as she faced Hopper across his kitchen table and realised how much she’d missed him. 

“Joyce?” 

El’s voice brought her out of her thoughts, and she turned to look at the girl.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Are you okay?” she said, her eyes large and perceptive. Clearly she’d noticed how quiet Joyce was, how distracted, and the thought warmed her heart.

“I’m okay,” Joyce replied softly, with her best attempt at a smile. Because really, she was. Sitting here surrounded by family - this _made_ her okay. 

“Thank you for dinner,” Will said, turning to Hopper. He smiled at the attention.

“Yeah, it was good,” Joyce said. 

Hopper’s gaze moved to her, eyebrows rising. “Just good?” His tone was light.

“ _Really_ good,” Will answered for her. 

“Alright, well, that’s all you’re getting. I’ve got no dessert for you.”

“Eggos?” This came, predictably, from El. The girl was leaning forward and pouting, huge eyes fixed on her pseudo-father.

Hopper hesitated. Then Joyce met his eyes, gave him a meaningful look, and he nodded. “Fine. I’m gonna talk to Joyce outside, okay? _One each_ , that’s it.”

She stood up and grabbed her coat, already reaching for the pack of cigarettes in her pocket. (Hopper’s were vile.) The air outside was cool and still, and the moon was lit in a shining crescent. She could even see the stars glowing through the trees above. 

There was a bench on the porch, and she sat on it with a sigh, taking out her cigarette and watching the quick spurt of the lighter in the near-darkness. She felt rather than saw Hopper sit beside her, warm against her side. 

After a moment of silence, she removed the cigarette from her lips and stared out into the woods. “You don’t think there’s anyone watching us, do you?”

“What, like the Lab?” He shifted on the seat. “I don’t think so, no. I think those people are long gone. They can’t afford to stay active in Hawkins, not after the scandal, and I heard they defunded that whole department anyway.”

She breathed out a sigh of relief, the taste of smoke ashy in her throat. She offered him the cigarette. He took it, and she heard him inhale deeply. Then she realised how close he was, his arm pressed against hers, and how comfortable the warmth was-

Joyce pulled away. She sat back, drawing her coat tighter around her. “What I wanted to say- about New Year-“ She couldn’t look at him, even though it was too dark to see. “I-“

“It’s okay,” he said, interrupting her. “If you regret it, it’s- um- it’s okay.”

He moved to hand back her cigarette, as if what he’d said hadn’t completely shaken her. “I don’t- I don’t regret it, not at all. I- I was going to say that, uh, I meant what I said. That I’d like to- to try this out. But I need more time.”

She was grateful for the dark, to conceal the blush on her cheeks. Her hands felt fidgety and at a loss, so she took back the cigarette to give herself something to do. It was only after she’d taken a few nervous drags that she felt confident enough to speak again, while Hopper remained eerily quiet.

“If you don’t want to wait- if you’ve found someone else- uh, that’s okay-“

She was silenced by his hand landing on hers, latching their fingers together and not letting go. He turned to her, his breath warm on her cheek. “I’m gonna wait,” he said slowly, his baritone rich in the silence, “for however long it takes. If it’s a month, six months, a year, never - it’s okay. I’ll be here.”

Joyce exhaled, the words running through her head in a relieving loop. _I’ll be here._ A sudden exhaustion came over her then, at the lightening of the tension in her spine that she hadn’t even known she’d been bearing. She let her head fall sideways, resting on Hopper’s shoulder, and after a moment his other arm came to wrap around her, holding her tight. 

This closeness - it felt right. Joyce was a long way from _ready_ , or _okay_ , but this- this felt like a feeling she could make a home out of.

There was a sudden muffled burst of music in the cabin behind them, some new wave hit. Hopper sighed. “El’s decided to take over my record player with trashy music she hears on the TV and guilt-trips me into buying. _Tears for Fears_ is her latest.”

It wasn’t a bad tune, she thought as she listened. Certainly different from the raw, emotional post-punk Jonathan listened to that pounded through the house. This sounded upbeat, at least. Hopeful.

She shifted closer into Hopper’s embrace, their combined steady breathing drowning out the music. That night she would go home to her empty bed, and maybe she would shed a few tears, and maybe she’d lie awake all night. And maybe there would still be days when she couldn’t breathe, and could barely get out of bed, and could offer her boys no more than a shaky smile - but those days would get fewer, and fewer, until she could march into Hopper’s office and kiss him hard, like she so desperately wanted to.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she whispered into his shirt.

“Happy Valentine’s,” he responded, his hand rubbing circles on her arm. 

It was nearly the end of winter, after all, and the sun would shine again.

**Author's Note:**

> as you can probably tell, i accidentally started out too el-centric and pulled it back a little clumsily halfway through, but my excuse is that i wanted this out by valentine’s.
> 
> \- the title is from marina’s new single, handmade heaven (which is also the title of this series). a jopper anthem, in my opinion.  
> \- cheez balls are, according to my limited research, a classic 80s snack - basically cheetos.  
> \- what love can be by kingdom come was actually released in 1988, but i felt it worked for the moment.  
> \- the connie francis song is ‘everybody’s somebody’s fool’ - a very kitsch but sweet love song, a 60s classic.  
> \- the moon on the 14th February 1985 was in fact a waning crescent - i looked it up.  
> \- the tears for fears song el and will listen to is ‘everybody wants to rule the world’ - the album, ‘songs from the big chair’, was actually released on the 25th february 1985, but this song was a single from it (so i’d imagine it was released slightly earlier).


End file.
